


Destcember Tales

by jsmulligan



Series: Destiny and Destiny 2 Stories [5]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destcember 2019 (Destiny), F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmulligan/pseuds/jsmulligan
Summary: A collection of shorts and drabbles inspired by Destcember prompts.  A glimpse of a possible future, and a legacy to follow. Darkness on the Moon. Revisiting an old acquaintance.  How could things have gone differently?  The Dawning.  Cross posted to fanfiction dot net.  Do not post on other sites.
Relationships: OC/OC
Series: Destiny and Destiny 2 Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473884
Comments: 29
Kudos: 11





	1. A Long Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a possible future, Celeste gets a visitor.

A Long Shadow

Sometime in a possible future.

Hunter Celeste Etain stood in her bedroom, staring at a pair of helmets that were sitting on one level of the bookshelf she’d set up in the corner. It carried more momentos than actual books, though it did hold a few of those as well. Each of the various trinkets held different levels of significance to her, but the two helmets were the most important. One was an old, battered Hunter helm that she found in one of the damaged and abandoned towers, the one that her father, Titan Claney Beamard, used to take her to in order to secretly train before she was allowed to actually be a Guardian. The other had belonged to him, and it was a gift that she had given him.

The two helmets were actually connected. She’d worn the Hunter helmet to hide her identity when she had acquired the other one as a gift. Unable to actually buy any gear, she’d convinced a random Titan to purchase it for her by disguising herself as a Guardian, claiming that she was too busy to do it herself, and giving him the glimmer, which she had earned by working with Eva Levante. She’d then painted a large smiley face on the faceplate of the helmet.

She was amazed sometimes that both helmets had survived the destruction of the old Guardian Tower by the Cabal during the Red War. Claney’s helmet had been in his room, and Painted Truth’s quarters, while not unscathed, had been spared the worst of the damage the Cabal’s bombardment had inflicted. Celeste had kept hers in the vault, and it was one of the few items of hers that had not been totally lost. Just another attack on the City that the old piece of armor had somehow made it through when others didn’t, though it did bear a few new scars.

There was another helmet that she wished she had next to them, another helmet that had belonged to Claney, but Warlock Zillah Arvid-Beamard, his wife, had that one. It was the helmet that he had worn when he died.

Celeste, Claney, and Zillah had been on a mission and gotten overwhelmed by an overwhelming force. They’d been fighting for their lives, wounded, running low on ammo, and found themselves surrounded and trapped. Claney had erected a Ward of Dawn, and the three of them were inside it, sheltered from the enemy shots that splattered against the purple dome.

Claney had taken off his helmet and thrown it to the ground in frustration. Celeste could still remember the look in his eyes, the desperation that was there. It was something she had never seen from him before. He had looked from her to Zillah, then back again, then echoed something he had said to them in the Red War, when they had been cut off from each other by a force field.

“Take care of her,” he said, and once again neither of them were sure who he was addressing it to.

His hands clenched into fists and he brought them to his chest. He had closed his eyes, his face tightening in concentration. When they opened again, they were no longer green, but purple and glowing with Void Light. He turned those strange eyes to the two of them again, then flung his arms out violently. There was a flash of Light, and Celeste had been forced to turn away from her father. That let her see what happened next. 

At his motion, the shell of his Ward of Dawn had expanded outward, almost faster than she could see. The Void Light had disintegrated the enemies that surrounded them and continued outward, passing through the walls in the cavern. Their enemies were gone.

And so was her father.

When Celeste turned back to where Claney had been standing, he was no longer there. All that remained was a faint Void glow on the ground that was slowly fading, and his Ghost, Elgan, lying at an odd angle beside it. Elgan’s eye was dark. Zillah and Celeste stood alone.

“Claney?” Zillah’s voice had been barely above a whisper. The Awoken woman stepped forward, dropping to her knees and placing a hand on the fading Light. She called his name again, a note of panic noticeable in her voice. “Claney?”

There had been no answer. Celeste had whisper try every Guardian frequency, but he wasn’t on any of them either. She watched as Zillah scooped up the dark, silent form of Elgan, then picked up Claney’s helmet. She set the Ghost inside it, and then cradled it to her chest.

Celeste had broken down then, sobbing. Zillah motioned for her to come close, and Celeste had rushed over to her, clinging to her robes. The two women sat there in the cave, alone, holding on to each other like life preservers for a long time.

Several years had passed since that incident. Celeste had continued on with her duties, leading Fireteam Painted Truth, a position she had been handed by her father when he had stepped down after the Red War. She had almost given it up after he died, left to find another team or just disappear into the wilds as some Hunters did, because every day it reminded her of him, but she had decided to stay for the same reason. Every day it reminded her of him, and pushed her to be the best Guardian that she could be for him. She wanted him to be proud of her, wherever he was.

Besides, she couldn’t just disappear. She had to stick around to be a mentor for a very special young Guardian.

As if on cue, there was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” Celeste called out, and the door opened. In bounded a small girl, five years old and bursting with energy.

“Sissy!” she shouted and flung herself at Celeste, an added boost of Light flinging her forward.

The little girl slammed into Celeste, and the Hunter staggered backward as she wrapped her arms around her. The back of her legs hit her bed and she fell backward, the two of them landing on the bed in a heap, the little girl laughing. The star-shape of a Ghost drifted into the room after her.

“Hey, Adara,” Celeste said, looking at the grinning child. The young girl had a blue tint to her skin, showing her Awoken heritage, though she lacked the shimmer just beneath the skin that most Awoken had. The green eyes and red hair were all her father’s however.

She had been born around eight months after Claney had died. Zillah hadn’t even known that she was pregnant when they had gone on that mission. Fortunately, she had never died and been resurrected during the battle, in large part thanks to Claney stepping in and shielding her on multiple occasions.

Guardians rarely got pregnant, and fewer still saw the pregnancy go to term and result in a live birth. No one was quite sure why. Clearly the frequency of Guardian deaths and rebirths were a factor. If a Guardian were to die without knowing that she was pregnant, and the Ghost revived her, it would result in her body being restored to a previous state. There was speculation about the fact that most Guardians had been dead at one point being part of the issue, others thought it had something to do with the original revival process changing their physical functions in some way, and others thought it might just be a result of the Light. Whatever the reason, it was a rare and celebrated event when a child was born to a Guardian.

It had been a difficult pregnancy for Zillah, and they’d had to induce early due to complications, but Adara Arvid-Beamard had entered the world healthy, if a little undersized. Then, shortly before her first birthday, a Ghost had found her and eventually bonded with her, so now there was a child Guardian running around the Farm, and the Tower when she came to visit.

“Hey, guess what,” Adara said, bounding up onto her feet. “Celeste. Celeste, guess what.”

“What?”

“No, you have to guess.”

“Uhm,” the Hunter paused, trying to come up with an answer. “The Vanguard declared you ready for field duties and you’re going on your first mission.”

Adara laughed, “No! There’s a new cow on the farm! He’s a little baby cow, and I named him Mooey.”

“Mooey?”

“Yeah, Mooey. And he’s a baby cow, and he’s little like me, and we’re going to be best friends. I’m going to feed him and raise him, and be his friend.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh huh. We’re going to be best friends, and no one is going to eat him, because I won’t let them, because I love him.” The little girl began to jump on the bed. “Mooey, Mooey, Mooey!”

Celeste couldn’t help but chuckle at the little girl’s enthusiasm and antics. She forced her face into a frown, though, and said, “Aww, I thought I was your best friend.”

Adara threw her arms around the Hunter’s neck. “You’re my best sister. Mooey is my best friend, and… Ooh, helmets.” She was looking and pointing at the two helmets that Celeste had been looking at before she came in. “Daddy’s helmets.”

“No,” Celeste corrected her. “This one was daddy’s,” she pointed to the smiley face helmet. “This one is mine.”

“Try on!” Adara said, making grabby motions at the old hunter helmet.

“You want to put on my helmet?” Celeste asked.

“Uh huh! Try on.”

Celeste thought about it for a moment, then stood up and carefully took the relic off the shelf. She held it out to Adara, and the little girl took it and slammed it over her head. “I’m you now! You put on that one.”

Adara was pointing at Claney’s helmet. Celeste stared at it for several moments.

“Put it ooonnnnnnnnnn,” Adara cajoled.

Celeste picked it up, more gently than she had picked up her own and looked at it, seeing her own reflection in the smiley face. She turned it around and slid it over her head. Instantly, the HUD lit up, giving her a tactical view of the room.

“Now I’m you, and you’re daddy!” Adara said. “Let’s go fight bad guys!”

The little girl jumped off the bed and dashed out of the room, making gun noises. Celeste watched her go. “I’m you, and you’re daddy.” The words echoed in her head. She turned her head to the left, catching sight of her reflection on the dresser mirror, looking at herself in Claney’s helmet.

“I’m you and you’re daddy.”

Celeste had helped a young Guardian before, trying to do for that girl what Claney had done for her. This was different though. A weight of expectation and responsibility settled on her shoulders then. It wasn’t the first time that she felt something like this about Adara, but it was stronger now. She was going to have to be responsible for her sister in a way that she hadn’t been for someone before.

“I’ll make you proud, Dad,” she said, reaching up to touch the side of the helmet. She turned and followed the young girl out of her room. “Let’s get those bad guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed the first two days of Destcember, but wanted to take part. Just like Inktober, I know I won’t get every day, but I want to try to get as many in as I can.
> 
> I was actually working on a sequel to When the Sun Winds Down in late October/early November, thinking I could get it done as a NaNoWriMo work, but that didn’t happen, as I felt a little burned out. This has provided a little inspiration, so I hope to get back to that soon.


	2. Dark Side of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eris faces one of her Nightmares.

Dark Side of the Moon

Somewhere under the lunar surface.

“Omar was skeptical? That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.” Eris Morn winced at the voice. The thing parading around as Eriana-3 was at it again, trying to tear at her mind with it’s words of scorn. “He only came because I used your name, you know. He would have rebuffed my advances, but when I mentioned the name of Eris Morn, he cast it all aside and jumped into our cause.”

“Leave me be,” Eris replied, then completed her missive to the Queen.

“We’re responsible for it all, of course,” not-Eriana continued. Why was it getting so much harder to remember that this thing wasn’t really her? “Not just poor, devoted Omar or the rest of our team. We are responsible for everything that happened here. All the pain, all the suffering, all the souls trapped here on this dusty rock. You and me.”

“You think I don’t already know that?” Eris turned to face her tormentor. “Do you truly believe that I ever forget that?”

“Yes,” the red phantasm hissed. “I think you do. You revel in the defeat of Crota and Oryx. You rush off to seek out problems as if you were some grand hero for humanity against the Darkness. You’re a fraud.”

Eris shook her head and turned away, walking through the tunnel, the green glow from her relic the only light.

“Do you realize that if you had not expressed an interest in my work, then the Disaster never would have happened? All these Guardians would still be alive if you had simply kept your mouth shut, ‘Crota’s Bane’?”

Eris flinched at that, stopping in her tracks.

“Ah, so your armor is not so thick as you pretend,” Eriana crowed. “There’s the truth of it. If you had not reacted the way you did, I wouldn’t have pursued our crusade. Or, I would have done so with no support and ended up like Toland, exiled and mad. 

“But you… you saw it the same way I did. You helped persuade the others. You got the Cryptarchs to share information. You. You! YOU!”

Eris hunched over, the words striking her as if they were physical blows. The guilt, the blasted eternal guilt, was almost too much to bear. This was why she had helped the Guardian defeat Crota, to try to atone for it all.

“What right do you have to even stand here alive?” Erianna’s voice was thick with malice. “Why should you live while all the others are dead? While your team is dead? While I am dead?”

“I don’t-” Eris began, but was cut off.

“How dare you stand here? You should be the one that died. You should have had your Light ripped out along with your eyes.”

“Yes,” Eris whispered.

The phantom paused then, as if it were caught off-guard by the response.

“Yes,” Eris continued, “I should have died here with everyone else. And again I have to ask you if you think I don’t already know that? There is no reason I should have made it out of that pit, clawed my way back to the surface, and gone on to survive as long as I have. And yet I endure.”

“You-” the Nightmare began, but this time Eris cut it off.

“I endure, and I ensured that Crota paid for what he and his host did to my friends. When Oryx came screaming for vengeance, I made sure he failed in his quest just as totally as we failed in ours. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger myself, but I gave the Guardian everything I had within my power to make sure that the deed was done. I was the one who brought down their line and destroyed the hope of the Darkness, and I will do so again.

“So, go on. Shout your rage and accusations. Buffet me with your vile words and your hatred. I will endure them all and see you brought low just as surely as I did Crota and the Taken King. And, if in the end that means I lie dead here on this cursed rock along with my friends, so be it, but at least I will have ended your desecration of their memory and ensure that you do not do the same to me.”

The phantom hung silently then, and Eris gave it a feral grin. She knew the silence would not last long, that it would begin again, probably with some of the others along to add their words. For now, however, she had won a small battle and a measure of peace here in the darkness of the Moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Dark Side of the Moon
> 
> Thanks to NetRaptor for the kudos!
> 
> I enjoyed writing my Eris and Eriana stories in my Tales We’ll Tell series, so I had to take a look at that here.


	3. A Day Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Shaxx steps away for a day and sees a familiar face.

A Day Off

The Iron Banner had come back to the Tower. Guardians were flocking to visit Lord Saladin and then rushing to battle in the Crucible arenas with the shackles on their Light removed, allowing them to unleash their full power on each other. Most Guardians loved these weeks, but there was one who did not.

Lord Shaxx.

The Crucible Handler found himself with little to do while the Banner was in full-swing. While it was true that he still offered Crucible bounties that could be claimed during matches, and the occasional Guardian sought out a standard Crucible match, without a full schedule of matches to oversee, boredom would often set in.

“Do you prefer when Shaxx calls these matches? So do I!” Saladin called out during a battle he was overseeing, and it was too much.

“You’re in charge,” the Titan said to his loyal frame, Arcite 99-40. Arcite was the last of Shaxx’s original series of personal battle frames, and had most of his combat routines replaced with vendor protocols when Shaxx took over the Crucible. The robot had taken to styling himself after his leader, adorning his head with horns and wearing a ruff of fur around his shoulders. He had even taken on some of Shaxx’s personality.

“Yes, sir,” the robot replied. “I will make you proud.”

“I’m sure you will,” Shaxx replied and turned to walk way.

At that moment, a Hunter came sprinting in their direction. He saw Shaxx walking away and tried to follow, but Acite stepped in his way.

“You want the Crucible? Today I am the Crucible,” the frame said, placing his hands on his hips.

…

Once away from his normal post, Shaxx made his way to a field in the City. Several years back, he had come down here with Cayde-6 after losing a bet. Cayde hadn’t told him why he was coming until they got there, and the surprise had been picking two kids to play dodgeball. Cayde had told him then that he would often take Guardians the kids knew of down here to spend time with them.

Then, the Red War happened, and Guardian and civilian alike were driven from the City. Then, after they returned and rebuilt, Cayde had been murdered by Prince Uldren. After that, Shaxx had no idea if anyone had kept up Cayde’s program. Somehow, he highly doubted it.

The field was a mess, though it hadn’t exactly been pretty to start with. There was a crater where something had crashed or exploded during the war, and several kids were playing in it, rolling down the sides. Beyond that, a long line was gouged in the ground stretching from one end of the field to another. A group of kids were running near there, using the line of damaged ground as a boundary for their game.

Shaxx’s attention was pulled from the state of the park when he heard a voice shout, “Crush them!”

His helmeted gaze turned to track the sound, and Shaxx spotted an Awoken girl that looked a little older than some of the other children. She was standing on the sidelines of a dodgeball match, shouting at the contestants. One of the children threw the ball, striking the last remaining member of the opposing team directly in the face, and the Awoken girl whooped. The way she moved in celebration let Shaxx get a good look at her face for the first time. It had changed some from the last time he had seen it, a little older, a little more mature, but he knew it right away.

Runa.

Shaxx strode purposefully toward her. Runa seemed to notice the movement from the corner of her eye and turned in his direction. When she saw him, she froze for a moment, before offering a salute.

“Lord Shaxx!” she cried out, and a grin spread across her face.

Shaxx walked up to her and paused, looming over her. “Runa.”

“I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I know,” the Crucible Handler said.

“We haven’t had any Guardians come down here in over a year, actually. Not since, well, not since Cayde..,” she trailed, a sadness passing over her features.

“Yes,” Shaxx said. “Cayde’s passing has left many holes that have yet to be filled.”

“He was dumb sometimes, but he seemed like he cared about us. Not a lot of people do.”

Shaxx nodded, and changed the subject, gesturing to the field as he spoke. “What is going on here?”

“I’m teaching them, just like you taught me,” the Awoken girl said, then waved for her two players to join her. “See? And I picked two of the smartest kids I could find, just like you did, and brought them together. We lost the championship match the first tournament, but used that to get better and won the next one, just like Lonwabo and I could have, if he hadn’t been such a quitter.”

Shaxx looked at the two children, his helmet an impassive visage. He’d seen Guardians squirm and back down when he stared silently at them like this, but these children didn’t even bat an eye, they just stared back as if daring him to challenge them.

“Impressive,” the Titan said eventually.

“Thank you, sir,” Runa replied, beaming.

“Do they have any more matches coming up?”

“Yeah, there are still a few rounds left in the tournament for today.”

“I would very much like to watch the rest of the tournament,” Shaxx stated. He walked over to where a smattering of adults were gathered to observe the kids. As he took a seat, several of them scooted away from the large man, intimidated. Shaxx snorted in derision.

He sat there the rest of the afternoon, watching match after match. Eventually, Runa’s team won the final match, staking claim to the plasteel trophy. It was something new, replacing the one he had seen the two rude children throw to the ground before.

"This was a good day," Shaxx thought to himself once it was over. "I still think they need to change the name of this game. Dodgeball is just so passive."

After he returned to the Tower, he decided to find someone who could take over for Cayde making sure that someone came out to visit the children from time to time. Maybe Arcite could handle the task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the guest for the kudos.
> 
> Funny story. I actually had an unexpected day off today because my back went out on me at work today. Spent the day trying to work on some things actually on Destiny, so I forgot that I had wanted to do something to day, so I nearly took a day off, on my day off, to not write about a day off.
> 
> I thought about writing about a group of Guardians taking the day off, playing a game. Maybe football, or something similar to it, but then my mind circled back around to this. For those unfamiliar with the reference, at the end of Destiny 1, there were two grimoire cards that referenced Shaxx losing to Cayde in the Crucible thanks to Cayde’s Golden Guns. Ghost Fragment: Lord Shaxx 1 and Ghost Fragment: Lord Shaxx 2. I had previously written my take on the match that lead up to it in my “Tales We’ll Tell” series titled “Challenge Accepted”, so I thought a follow-up might be nice.


	4. Alternate Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at how two moments could have turned out differently.

Alternative Universe

Things that could have been, had a different road been followed through the wood…

…

Claney crashed through the trees, the Fallen hunting cries spurring him on to find the little Ghost, to protect it at all costs. He broke through the underbrush and into a mostly open space, covered with overgrown grass and weeds rather than trees and shrubbery. There he spotted the remains of a house, abandoned for decades at the very least.

Through a gap in the wall, he spotted the Ghost, it’s shell open wide, Light pouring out of it. He’d seen it enough to recognize a resurrection. The Ghost had found its Guardian.

Claney rushed into the house, and the Ghost turned to face him. On the ground was the body of a young girl, no older than thirteen. She had long red hair, and was covered in a basic bodysuit. She wasn’t breathing.

“Why did you stop?” Claney demanded.

“She’s too young,” the Ghost, Whisper according to the ID tag, replied in a voice that sounded like a young boy itself. “She can’t be a Guardian. What do I do?”

“I’ve seen one or two other young ones raised before. It will be fine,” Claney said. “Wait, though. Let me handle these Fallen first.”

The Ghost bobbed an agreement.

“Stay here.”

Shots struck the wall and ground around Claney, announcing that the Fallen had arrived. Claney grabbed his scout rifle, the stock bearing the insignia of the Iron Lords, and prepared to fight. He would need to protect this Ghost so that it could finish resurrecting the girl, no way did he want her in the middle of a firefight the moment she was revived.

Claney stepped outside and a shock grenade landed near him.

“Grenade!” Elgan, his Ghost, called out unnecessarily. Claney dove to the side, rolled, and came up with the rifle in firing position.

A dreg emerged from the treeline, and Claney took off its head with one shot. Cries rang out all around him, and the Fallen surged forward. First, Claney shot down the line of shanks that emerged, some rigged to explode on proximity. Arc energy sizzled past him as the shanks opened fire. The Titan picked them off one by one.

A pair of stealth Vandals had used the distraction to try to circle around behind the big man. A shimmer of movement drew his eye, and whirled just in time to block a sword strike from one with his rifle. The blade was knocked from its course, but his gun was shattered.

He failed to see the second Vandal.

A shock blade stabbed through his stomach, sending a lance of pain shooting through him. Claney grunted in pain. He dropped the pieces of his broken gun and grabbed onto the arm of the cloaked alien. Wrenching, he snapped the bones of the arm, and the Vandal howled in agony. Claney shoved the injured Fallen away and stepped back.

The first of the stealth Vandals had recovered, and it stabbed him from behind. Claney fell to his knees, staring stupidly at the blade protruding from his chest. He cast one last glance toward the ruined house, and then everything went dark.

Later, once the area was clear of Fallen, Elgan revived him. Claney rushed into the old house, then stopped when he saw the crumbled remains of a Ghost lying on the floor. While he was down, the Fallen had killed the Ghost he had tried to protect. The Titan stooped down, scooping up the remains of the Child of the Traveler. 

“Elgan, store this so we can get it back to the City,” he said, and a moment later the pieces shimmered and vanished. He then glanced at the still dead body of the young girl. “I’m sorry, whoever you are. At least you still get to rest. I won’t, and neither will those Fallen. I swear I will hunt them down and kill every last one of them.”

Claney used materials in the house to cover the body, giving her a makeshift burial before he had Elgan transmat him to his ship. Back to the City to return the dead Ghost, then he would set off on a bug hunt.

________________________________

Another time, another road...

Cayde-6 coughed, writhing in pain. He wondered, not for the first time, why Clovis Bray had to give Exos pain receptors. Uldren Sov stood over him, pointing his own weapon, the Ace of Spades at him. Cayde struggled to push himself up, determined not to die flat on his back.

“Any last words?” Uldren asked him.

Cayde made it into a seated position and turned his mechanical face up to Uldren, though it was hard to see. One of his optics was malfunctioning from the beating he had taken at the hands of the Scorn.

“How’s your sister?” Cayde asked.

Uldren paused, then closed his eyes, and a shot rang out. Cayde flinched, expecting to feel a large caliber round crashing through him, but it never came. Instead, Uldren canted sideways, collapsing on the ground. A Guardian stepped out of the shadows, rushing over to drop by Cayde’s side.

“H… hey, partner,” Cayde managed. “He’s got a bunch of buddies in the other room. You should go shoot them too. A lot.”

“There will be time to find them later,” the Guardian replied. “Right now, we need to get you back to the Tower.”

The Guardian ordered their Ghost to transmat the two of them to their ship. Once aboard, they plotted a course to the new Tower, bypassing the usual dropzone. A call had gone in before letting the Tower know what happened, and they transmatted directly to the infirmary where exo specialists were waiting.

It was a long, difficult process, but in the end, they were able to save Cayde-6. However, with his Ghost Sundance gone, he no longer had access to the Light.

“Guess I know how Eris feels now,” he muttered when the Guardian came to visit him. “At least she got a nifty glowing rock out of her ordeal. What did I get? Nothing.”

“I’ll be sure to bring you a trophy from each of the Barons,” the Guardian promised before they left.

Once Cayde was alone again, he stared longingly out the window. He’d been trapped in the old Tower for so long. This work he’d started up with Petra had been the first action he’d seen in decades, and now? Now it was over again. There’s no way they would let him out of the Tower on his own with no Ghost for protection.

“I reckon that means I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. If Poncho can get out, I’m sure I can manage,” he said to himself, and then rested. 

Weeks later, upon his release, Cayde gathered supplies from a few of his stashes that he kept around the Tower, then slipped out from inside the Wall, setting out to find a new destiny for himself, and a vacancy in the Vanguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8, Alternate Universe. I usually try to stick to the days on these challenges. If I don’t do one on that day, it just doesn’t get done and I move to the next prompt. I couldn’t pass this one up though, so I had to break the rules a little.
> 
> In that same vein, I started day 6, For Every Rose, a Thorn, and did not finish it on the day, so I won’t be. As a bonus though, here’s what I had written for it. I tried to take it in a different direction from the obvious ones…
> 
> For Every Rose, A Thorn
> 
> Oryx observed everything that was happening in the system. His Echoes travelled to various locations, and those wretches whom he had Taken fed him information at all times. All of it served to feed his curiosity, to feed his Worm. Even now, he could feel its hunger, the desire to devour everything that Oryx, once called Aurash, had ever been and ever would be. If he, the Taken King, ever stopped seeking and searching, it would do just that, and he would be no more, so he had to always see, and learn, and know.
> 
> There was another desire beyond that, however. The desire to end the hateful Light that plagued his existence, and its avatar, the Traveler, whose coming at the Syzygy lead to the God-Wave that threatened to wipe out a frightened and struggling people. He had pursued it across the universe, and at last, here it was, crippled and dormant, ripe for the Taking.
> 
> This system itself was teeming with life. The Traveler had done what it always did and tended to the worlds, changing many dead and dusty orbs into something growing. There were also a number of different species warring against each other. Many of these creatures he had encountered, and Taken members of, previously in his travels. At the core was the native civilization, crippled much like the Traveler they hid under. There would be much slaughter, much tribute to offer the Worm gods.
> 
> It was a beautiful system indeed, a flower in bloom and ready to be plucked.
> 
> But great danger lay here as well. This flower bore thorns. His son, Crota, had been slaughtered by creatures of the Light. Beings that the Traveler had changed, much as it changed worlds, giving them power and the ability to reshape their fate. The power to combat cheat death itself, much as Oryx did with his throne world. This was something grand, something new for the Taken King to tear apart and understand, thus increasing his knowledge, and by extension, his power.


	5. The Big Bag Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation about a bag.

The Big Bag Theory

A conversation overheard between an unknown Warlock and Hunter as they crossed through the Tower Courtyard heading toward the hangar.

The Warlock was speaking as they came into earshot. “I heard someone say once that, ‘Life is like a big bag, and everything goes into it. You just have to hope that, in the end, the good outweighs the bad.’”

“Well, that’s just stupid,” the Hunter replied.

“What?” the Warlock paused, seemingly caught off-guard by the response.

“Why would I want anything bad in my bag?”

“Well-” the Warlock began before getting cut off.

“I mean, why not just avoid or throw out the bad and make sure that the bag is only full of good stuff?”

“Life doesn’t-” Another interruption.

“I mean, when I’m out searching for salvage, I don’t throw useless scraps in with the valuable loot, right? ‘Ooh, look at this fancy Golden Age tech. Ooh, look at this used piece of tin foil. Think I’ll throw them all together, they’re both equally valuable.’ Please.”

The Hunter waved a hand after making the last statement, and started off in the direction they had been walking again, moving at a quick pace. The Warlock stood still for a beat longer, then raced to catch up.

“I think you’re missing the p-” the Warlock attempted to interject, but was cut off yet again.

“I don’t have room in my bag for that trash. I say shoot the bad stuff and just fill your bag with good things. Right, Ghost?”

The Hunter’s Ghost materialized and did a little swoop around its Guardian’s head. “I’d prefer not to have to haul around trash for you, yes.”

“See?” The Hunter glanced back at the Warlock, and gestured to the Ghost.

The Warlock drew to a stop again, and the Hunter did as well. The two Guardians just looked at each other, the Hunter with a look of expectation, the Warlock blinking rapidly.

“I think I’m going to have to count this conversation as one of my bad things,” the Warlock said. “Excuse me while I go find someone else to talk to to try to balance it out.”

With a quick turn, the Warlock set off in the opposite direction that they had been walking in. The Hunter watched them leave with a shrug, then continued on toward the hangar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10, The Big Bag Theory


	6. Guardian of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, exactly, are you a Guardian of?

Guardian of Nothing

Warlock Darcel Bellamy stood over a wounded creatures that used to be a Hive Thrall and stared at the creature in fascination. The dried, flaky skin and corpse-like appearance had been replaced by a black shimmer, a white globular shape imprinted on its face. These “Taken” had been spreading throughout the system ever since the arrival of Oryx, the Taken King. He and other Guardians had been fighting to contain their spread for weeks now, with little success. 

Today had been another rapid response mission, launching to fight off a reported appearance creatures. Darcel thought it was bad strategy, rushing around and putting out fires like this, but until someone figured out what they were after or found a way to actually strike at Oryx, there was little else that they could do. His three-Guardian team had arrived, and eliminated the threat after a brief firefight. The other two members of the team had transmatted away immediately after, but Darcel had stayed to take some readings, and that was when he found it.

The Taken Thrall had been hit in both legs, shattering bone and leaving it lying crippled on the ground. Its resting place had been obscured from view, so the Guardians had not finished off the wounded beast. Darcel nearly finished it off on sight, but curiosity had stayed his hand.

The Thrall alternated between trying to claw its way toward him and writhing on the ground, its face passing through three distinct emotions. The agony was expected, it had been shot, after all. The rage was nothing new. He’d seen the same look on dozens of the creatures as they flung themselves at him, trying to tear him with their claws. The third, though, that was a surprise.

Ecstasy. 

As it lay there in pain, slowly dying, the creature was caught up in an unfathomable joy. Darcel watched in silence, then was filled with anger. What right did this creature have to feel such joy, while he felt nothing similar. Every day he fought and struggled for an existence that creatures like this threatened at every turn, always feeling the pressure of near extinction. And this thing was wrapped in ecstasy even as it bled and died? The Warlock drew a knife and stabbed the Thrall, dead-center in the white mark on its face. As he did so, it was as if an electrical jolt shot through him.

Power. Raw power, followed by a greater, deeper knowledge than anything he had ever imagined before. It was carried in a song of worlds seen and scoured, of lives understood and devoured.

It was beautiful.

“What was that?” his Ghost, Ogma asked as he appeared above Darcel’s shoulder. Ogma swept a beam of Light across his Guardian, scanning him briefly.

“Truth,” Darcel responded.

The Warlock transmatted to his ship, but did not return to the Tower. Instead, he listened for any further announcements of Taken activity, while at the same time working on his ship’s sensors, trying to fine-tune them to detect Taken signatures. Moving forward, Darcel did nothing but track the Taken. Each time they emerged, he would position himself close and study them from a safe distance, never engaging. If he returned to the Tower at all, it was only to use his lab to study remains and other objects gathered from the field after these encounters ended.

Ogma observed his Guardian with a growing sense of concern. They had both heard the stories of Toland and Osiris, Guardians, and more specifically Warlocks, who had become obsessed with enemies of the Light and been exiled as a result. It looked like his Guardian was heading down this same path. Darcel noticed his Ghost’s trepidation, and began to shield his thoughts from his companion. Eventually, they stopped talking at all. 

After two months of silence, Ogma reached out to Arach Jalaal. 

“I’m afraid for him,” the Ghost had said. “I’m beginning to be afraid of him as well. I think he’s going to do something foolish.”

“Bellamy has been a loyal and vocal supporter of Dead Orbit,” Jalaal said. “I would hate to see something befall such a Guardian. I will look into it.”

Members of Dead Orbit went to Bellamy’s lab to try to speak with him the next time he visited the Tower, but he did not respond. When he left, Jalaal had the door forced open, as it was a Dead Orbit controlled facility. Inside, they found the remains of his experiments with the Taken, and knew something had to happen.

Bellamy himself had set a course for Mars. His destination was a stable Taken portal there that he had discovered on a previous journey. The Warlock transmatted to the dusty surface of the planet, then made his way into the cavern. After walking a short distance inside, another room opened to the right, and inside was the portal. Darcel approached the portal, and drew his weapon. He then knelt before the portal, set the gun flat on the ground in front of him, and waited.

Hours passed. Darcel closed his eyes, pushing away physical discomforts that began to set in from holding the same position for so long. Finally, his patience was rewarded. The portal rippled, and a Taken Wizard emerged. Darcel was careful to make no move, to let the creature know that he was no threat.

“Whaaaaaat doesssss it wannnnt?” the Wizard spoke in English with great difficulty, as if something, or someone, else was pushing the question through this form.

“Knowledge,” the Warlock replied, “and power.”

“Thissssss iiiis acceptablllllle,” the Wizard replied. It wrapped itself around Bellamy, then pulled him through the portal.

…

Later.

“I know a ten-year-old girl back at the Tower that hits harder than that,” the Titan had replied after Bellamy struck him. The nerve of that simpleton!

Darcel kicked the red-haired man in the head and spat, “The Tower is gone and your ten-year-old is probably dead.”

He tried speaking with the captured, powerless Guardians further, but got nowhere. They would not tell him who had sent them after him, but in the end, it didn’t really matter. The Warlock shot the Titan in the leg, only to be surprised by the lack of response from the man or blood from the wound.

“What?” The Warlock asked, but go no further as one of the Hunter broke free and attacked him with a knife. He fell back and called to his dark allies, “Defend me!”

Several Taken Cabal surrounded him, ushering him through a portal and out of the room. He expected them to release him once they were safe, but the Taken continued to drag him, even after he struggled to get free.

“Release me, you fools,” he demanded, but there was no response.

Eventually, the loss of blood took its toll on him, and Darcel ceased struggling, passing out in the arms of his captors. He woke, groggily when they dropped him to the ground later. He struggled to open his eyes, and saw where he had been brought, and dread filled him.

“No,” he whispered.

“Yes,” replied a voice.

“But… but you can’t,” he managed to croak out. “Guardians can’t be Taken.”

“Guardian?” the voice replied. “Guardian of what? The Last City? As you yourself pointed out, your City has been overrun, and even if it had not, you have been rejected by them, cast out with a bounty on your head.

“A Guardian of the Traveler? That silent, crippled hulk has been captured and contained by the Cabal. There is no Light for you anymore, little human.

“You are a Guardian of nothing, and you have nothing left to offer me, except yourself.”

A hand enveloped his face then, and Bellamy screamed. In his mind, words echoed over and over again…

Guardian of nothing.

Guardian. Guardian of nothing. Nothing.

Guardian. Of. Nothing. Nothing, nothing nothing.

Guardian, Guardian, Guardian.

Nothing. Nothing.

Guardian of nothing.

Nothing.

You are nothing.

You are nothing, oh Guardian mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the guest for the kudos!
> 
> Day 11, Guardian of Nothing. Decided to go back and revisit our Taken Warlock friend from When the Sun Winds Down for this prompt.


	7. Last Man Standing

Last Man Standing

Titan Claney Beamard’s eyes were drawn toward the Moon which hung low in the blue sky. Several emotions passed through him at once, fear, shame, longing, anger, and regret. He pushed down each one as he always did, burying them as deeply as he could under layers of hate. Forcing his eyes away from the silver-white orb, he focused instead on the band of Fallen raiders that were camped out at the bottom of the hill.

He’d been trying to hunt down this particular band of Fallen for several days now. He had responded to a distress call regarding an attack, but arrived too late, finding the people who had sent it butchered. The path the killers had taken was clear, and he had set off to follow. The raiding party had been moving surprisingly quickly, so it had taken him time to catch up, but now he had them.

Rising from where he had been crouched, he took several steps backward. He took a moment to gather himself, then sprinted forward, charging a grenade, and jumped from the hill. He threw the grenade to the left side of the gathering, while he himself plummeted toward the right.

As a Defender, Claney was more accustomed to tapping into the Void aspect of Light, using it to protect himself and others. In this moment, however, he utilized the Arc. The grenade struck the ground and lanced out streaks of lightning into the Fallen. Those closest to it were sent flying from the force of the energy’s release. With their attention pulled that way, the Fallen failed to see him barrelling down at them. He covered himself with Arc energy as well, releasing it in a Fist of Havoc as he struck the ground.

Again, bodies went flying, electricity crackling over them. Before they hit the ground, Claney was moving. He grabbed the shotgun from his back and began to open fire on any Fallen who were still standing.

Finally, the Fallen began to respond, turning to fight the invader in their midst. Two Vandals rushed in to attack, swords at the ready. They pounced at Claney, attempting to run him through. The Titan spun and shot the first one in the face, a puff of ether escaping the corpse as it tumbled to the ground.

The move was enough to avoid the stabbing action of the second Vandal, though it still struck him and knocked him off balance. Claney stumbled and dropped his shotgun. He whirled on the Fallen and stepped in close, slipping between its arms. He wrapped his own around it, and headbutted alien, then jerked upward against the creature’s arms, snapping bones. The Vandal fell, howling in pain. 

Claney took the shock blades from its limp hands, and used them on the other Fallen, charging through shock pistol blasts to skewer Dregs on the blades. One by one he cut through them, until nothing else was moving. That was when the Captain appeared.

Where it had been hiding until that moment, Claney didn’t know, but he turned to face the new arrival. The Titan panted from the exertion, with blood leaking from various wounds, trailing red down his green and gold armor. He could feel healing energies seeping into him from his Ghost Elgan, currently hidden in phase.

The large, four-armed alien was holding a shrapnel launcher, but set it down and drew two shock blades of its own. The Titan straightened and readied himself. Roaring a challenge, the Captain lunged at Claney.

The Captain slashed at Claney, who deflected the blow, the force of which shattered one of his blades. Claney flung the useless handle at the Captain, and followed up with his own swing that the Fallen barely avoided. That move left the Titan exposed, and the Captain scored a strike against his side, cutting through armor and into skin.

Claney spun away from the blow, gritting his teeth in pain. The Captain laughed and lunged at him again. Claney side-stepped and swung his sword, the blade cutting deep into one of the Captain’s lower arms, nearly severing it. Now the alien roared again, this time in pain.

Another flurry of swipes and strikes ended with the Fallen Captain impaled on Claney’s sword. Nothing else moved. He released his grip on the sword, letting it fall to the ground, and sagged to his knees. If it wasn’t for his Ghost, Claney would probably bleed out and end up on the ground here with his enemies. Instead, he just had to wait as the little machine knitted him back together with the Light that had resurrected him.

“We should go,” Elgan said once he was done with the healing process. “I’m getting reports of more Fallen to the east, a much larger band than this one.”

“Where?”

“No,” the Ghost replied. “You’ve done enough for the day. Gather reinforcements or let someone else handle it.”

“Where?” the Titan asked again, more forcefully.

“You can’t keep going like this,” the Ghost answered. “One of these days you’re going to push yourself too hard, too far, and I can’t keep watching it happen.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Elgan replied, “that maybe I’ll do something about it. Maybe I’ll stop healing you.”

“Feel free,” Claney replied. “Because then I would be. Now, where are the Fallen?”

The Ghost reluctantly replied, and Claney set off. He’d been the last man standing here. He’d be the last one standing there as well. Over and over again, until one of these times he wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destcember Day 12. A glimpse into Claney’s past.


	8. Theism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13. Ruminating on divinity in a world of "gods".

Theism

From the journals of Warlock Aviur Menacham.

God. A word that carries a lot of different meanings to different people. For some, it refers to an all-powerful, all-knowing deity that created the universe and everything in it. For others, it has meant a pantheon of beings of various levels of power that influenced different aspects of nature. Then, for some, it was simply a concept to be scorned and left behind. These days, the concept is a topic of frequent debate.

First, there was the Traveler. When that great, floating orb showed up in system, it was a marvel. It could terraform planets in a way humanity had only dreamed. Thanks to it, human life-spans were tripled and humanity’s Golden Age began. There were people then who began to consider it to be a god, and after the Collapse, Traveler worship cults became common. Now we have the Fallen, or Eliksni if you prefer, in our system, who worshipped it as a god when it first found their people. Even now, they revere machines and craft their Servitors in its image. Whether their strange form of machine worship lead to them accepting the Traveler as divine or sprang from it, we cannot yet say.

From the Traveler came the Ghosts, filled with Light and able to raise the dead, a miracle in itself. These Risen then were imbued with fantastical powers that some of the ancients would certainly have attributed to gods, things like immortality or the ability to summon fire or lightning seemingly at will. At the very least, they would have been hailed as demi-gods. Before the Iron Lords changed things, there were even some Risen who saw themselves as gods, with baseline humanity something for them to control or use.

In the years since the Collapse, several other enemy species have invaded our system, each of them with their own notion of god. Some of them were even called gods themselves, creatures like Crota and Oryx. Once we understood more of the Hive, we grew to understand that these “gods” were beholden to the Worm gods, leaving Oryx and his ilk as some for of second tier deity. Some of the Cabal seem to venerate their emperor, and the Vex had the Heart of the Black Garden. Such an odd concept, machines with faith.

So where then does that leave us?

Oryx, Crota, and the Black Heart are all dead. A team of three Guardians slew one of the Worm gods on Mars. I would venture to say that being killed by mere bullets would strip any claims of true divinity. 

A number of Guardians have had encounters with Emperor Calus, or at least machines posing as him or delivering messages for him. From what I can ascertain, he is a madman. Calus claims to have seen the end of all things and wants to reserve the right to be the final thing alive in the universe. He has even had scribes writing out “future history”, which includes a Guardian siding with him, and helping him wipe out everything else that could take that claim. I do not imagine a god would need to fear being the last one standing.

The Traveler still hovers over our City. It was caged and trapped during the Red War, and somehow awoke from its long slumber to free itself, but had done nothing overt since then. I say nothing overt because there does seem to be an increase in the number of Guardians that claim to have received some sort of communication from it in recent years. With its shell cracked the way that it is now, we can see more of the inner workings of it than ever before, lending more credence to the name given to it by the Fallen, The Great Machine. It is incredible, and obviously capable of great power, but it is no god.

Could it be a conduit to one, though?

We have these vague concepts of “Light” and “Dark” to describe the ontological powers that seem to be waging a conflict that we are stuck in the middle of. One Guardian claims to be receiving communications from the Pyramid ship on Luna talking about beings called the Gardener and the Winnower, which seem to be actualizations of the Dark and Light, and claims that they existed before, and brought about, all things through a game. Could our universe and existence be the result of a pair of deities playing a game of probability? It is a bold claim for sure, and impossible to prove or disprove currently.

That is always what it comes down to, isn’t it? The impossibility of proof, of being able to label and test something that could lie beyond the scope and realm of our ability to study and dissect it. I have seen, experienced, and felt enough in my time as a Guardian to be able to say one thing for certain, a quote from a playwright who lived a millenia ago, “There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

That and hope that if there is a God or Gardener out there, that they preserve us from the scythe that both Emperor Calus and that Drifter seem to see coming.


	9. Vex and the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destcember Day 16 prompt.

Vex and the City

>PLEASE ENTER SEARCH QUERY.

?>vex city

>NOTHING RESEMBLING A CITY BUILT BY THE VEX HAS BEEN DISCOVERED.

?>vex; the city

DISCOVERED: TWO [2] AUDIO FILES DISCOVERED. TRANSCRIPTS AVAILABLE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR THEM?

>display, text only

>FILE 1

TYPE: Transcript  
DESCRIPTION: Conversation  
PARTIES: One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Celeste Etain [CE]; One [1] Rogue Lightbearer, designate The Drifter [D]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Praxic; Gambit; Vex; The Last Safe City

[D:01] Hey there, Snitch. Welcome back. Don’t worry, old Drifter’s not mad at ya for ratting me out to the Praxics. Just disappointed.

[CE:01] I-

[D:02] Don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it. That… that might make me change my mind about the whole “not being mad” thing. You here to play some Gambit?

[CE:02] Yes.

[D:03] Fantastic. Your buddy Tanton is a talented invader. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him back in action. In fact, I’ve got some gear I’ve been looking to give him. Make sure he swings by before your match, you hear?

[CE:03] I’ll let him know.

[D:04] Great. And if you get matched up with any Vex, try to snag me some radiolaria. I can never find any in the City. My cereal just isn’t the same with cow’s milk.

>FILE 2

TYPE: LIVE SURVEILLANCE FEED [SAFETY PROTOCOLS]  
PARTIES: Two [2]. One [1] Repair Crew, identity unknown [RC]; One [1] Maintenance Working, identity unknown [MW]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Vex; The Last Safe City  
//TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[RC:01] Wait, wait, wait. Ikora’s building what?

[MW:01] A Vex gate. In the Tower.

[RC:02] “But that’s… I don’t… Why?”

[MW:02] Their sending Guardians into the Vex network for something.

[ship engine sounds, unintelligible]

[RC:03] What’s to keep the Vex from just opening it up from their side and pouring into the City?

[MW:03] That is an excellent question.

[silence]

[RC:04] We’re all going to die, aren’t we?

>PLEASE ENTER SEARCH QUERY.

>live vex; last city

>THERE ARE NO ENTRIES FOR “live vex” AND “last city”.

>live vex spotted in the city

>THERE ARE NO ENTRIES FOR “live vex spotted in the city”.

>reporting vex activity in the city

>ANY VEX ACTIVITY SHOULD BE REPORTED TO THE VANGUARD AS TOP PRIORITY. DO YOU NEED TO FILE A REPORT?

>

>

>ARE YOU STILL USING THIS TERMINAL?

>

>

>USER LOGGED OUT FOR INACTIVITY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the two guests for the kudos!


	10. I Am the Hive

I Am the Hive

>replay mission audio file: will of crota

>RETRIEVING

TYPE: LIVE COMBAT FEED, STRIKE PROTOCOL  
DESCRIPTION: Conversation  
PARTIES: One [1] Guardian-type, Class Hunter, designate Cayde-6 [C6]; One [1] Guardian-type, Class Warlock, designate Ikora Rey [IR]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Vanguard; Strike; Crota; Omnigul; Cosmodrome

[C6:01]: Remember Omnigul? Hive general with the lovely voice? She’s back.

[IR:01]: Vanguard scouts report she’s undone her death.

[C6:02]: Undone her death? You make it sound like she pulled her knitting apart.

[IR:02]: Eris would tell you not to make light of this.

[C6:03]: That’s why she’s not here.

[IR:03]: There’s no telling what else may follow, Guardian. Destroy Omnigul and any lingering threats.

[C6:04]: If Omnigul can come back to life, how do we make sure she stays dead? I wonder if the Hive think that about us?

[IR:04]: To the Hive, death is relative. We’ll face Omnigul as many times as it takes.

[C6:05]: Guess we were made for each other.

>logout

The audio file stopped, and the computer screen went blank. Hunter Aasim-7 closed his optics, sitting still and letting the silence settle over him. He let the pain at hearing Cayde’s voice again fade. The battle with Omingal replayed itself in his mind, each shriek preserved perfectly by his audio receptors. He mentally compared those with the shrieks made by the being he had fought today. They were identical.

Whatever these Nightmares were, they were very good at replicating their subjects. It was almost enough to convince him that Omnigul had once again “undone her death” and come back, but he pushed that notion away. Omnigul was gone, and so was whatever had worn her face today.

The Exo opened his optics again, rising from the seat in the cockpit of his ship. A faint whir of his internal mechanics accompanied the move, a sound nearly imperceptible to humans, and one his mind normally filtered out, but lately he had been growing more aware of the sound every time he moved. He didn’t know if that meant that something was wrong and the workings were actually getting louder, or if he was just noticing it more for some reason, possibly related to how little he had moved in the last year.

The transmat took him to the surface of the Moon. Other Guardians were there as well. He felt eyes slide over him as he made his way to where Eris stood, saw recognition and surprise flare to life behind some of them when they recognized his tan and blue armor or the wolf’s head markings. Some stared at the vermillion stripe down his chest. He’d hated attention at first, but had grown used to it over the years. Stares. Whispered words and titles. Saladin’s Young Wolf. Iron Lord. Slayer of Crota. Slayer of Oryx. Hivesbane. THE Guardian. Hero of the Red War. The Chosen One. The Traveler’s Chosen. They always left out the most important one.

Failure.

He’d failed Cayde-6 in the Reef, allowed himself to become separated from the Hunter Vanguard. Because of that, Cayde had faced down the Scorn Barons alone, and had died. He hadn’t even been able to avenge him properly, as a different fireteam had helped Petra kill Uldren.

After that, he retreated into himself. Most of the top Hunters apparently fled the Tower to avoid possibly being named Vanguard, but he hadn’t returned because he could bear to face any of them. Instead, he found a place to hide away and just stopped. Stopped running. Stopped fighting. His clothing still bore remnants of the vines that had wrapped themselves around him as he lay in the Exo equivalent of a near-catatonic state.

He hadn’t even responded when the all-call went out for Guardians to respond to the crisis on the Moon. Imagine, the Hivebane not showing up to fight the Hive. Doing nothing while other Guardians risked their lives battling the daughter of Crota, another remnant of that Light forsaken family that he couldn’t seem to be rid of. The result of that being an entire fireteam, Fireteam Painted Truth, had gone missing. Because he wasn’t there.

Failure.

Now he was here, trying to help find those Guardians, and trying to stop whatever was happening on the Moon. Trying to make up for this failure, at least. For that, he needed to see Eris. 

He waited patiently while other Guardians spoke with the old Hunter, then left. Finally, when they were alone, he approached. Eris turned as he stepped toward her, her head cocked at an odd angle, as if she were listening to something that no one else could hear. Maybe she was. After a second, she turned her face toward Aasim, those three Hive eyes staring at him behind their shroud.

“Lord Aasim,” she said. “You seem troubled.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he admitted, casting a glance at the two red apparitions that hovered over her shoulder. “How much do you know of what is going on here?”

Eris followed his eyes, looking at the two figures behind her and bared her teeth. “Nightmares. Ghosts of the past brought back to torment us, force us to relive our past traumas in hopes of breaking our will.”

“Who is doing it?” he asked.

“I… have my suspicions,” she replied. “I am working to uncover their secrets to put an end to it.” Turning back to him, she asked, “What have you seen, Hunter?”

“Omnigul,” Aasim replied.

Eris nodded, “Yes, I have heard her screams through many Guardians communication frequencies. She is the source of much pain, though possibly the littlest of yours, I think.”

“I went back and listened,” Aasim replied, “to the mission where I killed her, to try to see if it was the same… I… I needed to know she was gone. And I heard Cayde…”

Aasim turned away then, looking at the ruins stretching to Archer’s Line. Eris made an indecipherable noise at the sound of the former Hunter Vanguard’s name. She and Cayde had not always seen eye to eye, and she had not been around when he was lost. As far as Aasim knew, she had never mentioned her feelings on the matter to anyone.

“There was something he said,” Aasim said, still not looking at Eris. “That we were made for each other, us and the Hive, because of the way we both cheat death and keep coming back for more. I hadn’t caught it the first time, but it stuck out to me this time.

“I think it has to do with something someone else said. Toland. Or at least something that claims to be him. This small, floating orb of light that I’ve seen here on Luna.”

“Yes,” Eris said, drawing the word out. “I too have seen this remnant of Toland. It is indeed him, not this shadowy form here.”

That drew Aasim’s eye back toward Eris, and he looked at the apparition she gestured toward. The Ghost of a Warlock, hovering in place and hunched over as if in pain. Now he recognized the other one as well, another member of the ill-fated Crota team he had avenged.

“Well, Toland spoke to me. He rambled at length of the Hive sword logic, and how I should have taken Oryx’s throne when I killed him. Cayde says we seem made for each other, Toland says we operate by their logic. When I sought to avenge Cayde, Fikrul raved about me being nothing but a monster and a killer.

“So now I have to ask, how different from them are we? Am I the same thing as the Hive?” At his question, Eris took in a sharp breath, drawing Aasim’s eye. “I only ask because you know them better than anyone, and you know the lengths I’ve gone to in dealing with them better than most.”

“No,” Eris intoned. “No matter what anyone claims. You may have been shaped and molded by your dealings with them, but you are not of them. I… recently had an encounter, something called me a Child of the Hive. In a way, that was true, as the person you see standing before you only exists because of them, because of what happened down in that pit. That does not make me one of them, a fact I have had to remind many Guardians of.”

Aasim nodded. After taking on some bounties for enemies on Luna, he departed. After another day of fruitless searching for the missing fireteam, he rested.

As he slept, he dreamed, as he always did, of the Deep Stone Crypt. He was fighting his way through the army that kept him from it, trying not to look at those he had to kill. Tonight, each bore the face of either Cayde-6 or the members of Fireteam Painted Truth. Each time he tried to advance, he was thrown back, unable to gain ground.

“I can help you,” a voice whispered to him.

Aasim refused to look. Instead he launched himself into another fruitless assault.

“I can help you,” the voice said again, and this time, Aasim turned.

A Hive worm wriggled on the ground.

Aasim stared at it for several moments, then stooped and picked it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destcember Day 17. The conversation between Cayde-6 and Ikora Rey comes directly from the Will of Crota strike from Destiny 1, I only reformatted it a bit. Thanks to Ishtar Collective for getting all these things recorded!


	11. Taken on Me

Taken on Me

“You are nothing, oh Guardian mine,” the voice whispered to Darcel Bellamy. He was enveloped in total darkness. He tried to lash out, but he was bound in restraints that offered no give. “Nothing. Yet, you could be so much more.”

Behind the voice, as if buried in the back of his mind, he sensed something else, voices chanting the same three syllables over and over, “Sa… Va… Thun…” Darcel had heard that name in his studies of the Taken. Was that who was speaking to him?

“So many questions. Always asking, always seeking. So much like Oryx. Stop regarding reality as a thing to be known.”

Pain lanced through his mind then, and Bellamy writhed against his restraints.

“The true nature of the world will never reveal itself to you in books and studies. The true nature of the world is power, and how you can wield it. If you want to understand the world, you tear it asunder, and it will pour out everything. Observe.”

Pain lanced through his mind again, and Bellamy had the sensation of something peeling apart the layers of his mind, exposing everything that he had ever done or said. Even things he himself could not remember rushed out, things from his first life. Before he had a chance to examine any of it, it was snatched away, and he wept for his loss.

“What holds you back from your true nature? What holds you back from taking what is yours? All you have learned is a shackle that binds you. If you cast it aside, you could have that knowledge and so much more.”

Images pass through Darcel’s mind then, things that had meant something to him once, Ikora Rey, the Tower and Traveler, Dead Orbit’s logo, his Ghost.

“I can strip these from you as easily as the last, but I want you to do it. Break through your bonds and wipe away the things that hold you back.”

Bellamy focused on his restraints, and realized that he could picture them in his mind despite the darkness he found himself in. They were indeed comprised of imagery from his life as a Guardian. As he concentrated, they weakened, and then shattered.

The voice laughed. “Yes, oh Guardian mine. Well done. Now, can you sense your true power? You have the ability to reshape reality as you see fit, to break and mold in the palm of your hands.”  
Darcel suddenly became aware of a sound from somewhere outside this cocoon of darkness that made of his world. It sounded like gunfire.

“No,” hiss the voice. “Others are here. Others who want to destroy you, to keep you from reaching your full potential. They would see you cowed and broken, made a slave to that dead orb that hangs over their city.

“Here is a knife. It is shaped like [tear it asunder]. Take up the knife. Cut through reality. Take your new shape.”

Darcel grasped the knife, and he felt a surge of power flow through him. Immediately, the darkness around him was shattered, and he found himself standing on the surface of a planet. Earth. And someone else was there. Some he knew, one he did not. The ones he knew, he hated. Guardians. Bellamy surrounded himself with power, disregarding gravity and lifting from the ground.

“You. I know you. Murderer. Assassin!” he said into the mind of the lead Guardian.

And then the battle was joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destcember day 18. This is a continuation from day 6, and another look at Darcel Bellamy and his path to becoming a Taken Warlock. This all takes place during my story “When the Sun Winds Down”, as that was where we were introduced to both vanilla and Taken Bellamy. The only other thing I could really think of for the prompt was fighting Taken, and I didn’t feel like writing a combat scene.
> 
> Some of the dialogue the voice speaks to Darcel was included in an author’s note for Chapter 20 of “When the Sun Winds Down”. It was from the grimoire style piece I wrote when thinking of a Taken Warlock.


	12. Holiday Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Dawning, Guardian

Holiday Spirit

“Happy Dawning, Old Man.”

Titan Claney Beamard turned to see his daughter, Hunter Celeste Etain standing in the open doorway, sunlight glinting off her red hair. He smiled, setting down the map of the local area he’d been looking over before her arrival.

“Dawning?” he asked. “Is it really already that time?”

“You forgot? Seriously?”

“Well,” he said, reaching up to run a hand over his close-cropped hair that was nearly the same shade of red as hers, “we’ve been pretty busy around here. Easy to lose track of things. Especially City and Tower holidays when you’re not in the City.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to help you keep your head on straight, then.” She said. “I brought you something.”

Claney hadn’t noticed that she had her hands hidden. She brought them out from behind her back, revealing a blue box. She stepped forward held it out to him. Claney took the package, untied the string wrapped around it, and lifted the lid to reveal an assortment of fresh smelling cookies. Some were dark with a reddish edge with a gray double eagle stamped on top, some were half orange and half white with a white double eagle, and the rest looked vaguely like the Helm of Saint-14.

“I made you all the Titan themed ones,” she said, “Gjallardoodles, Vanilla Blades, and Lavender Ribbon Cookies. People have been making those for Zavala, Shaxx, and Saint-14. I couldn’t decide which ones fit you best, so I made all of them.”

“Fit me best?” Claney asked.

“Yeah. Zavala is the Commander. He’s compassionate, and cares about everyone under his command, and a lot of people refer to him as ‘Tower Dad’. Shaxx has his Crucible set up to train Guardians how to fight in a variety of settings and ways. Saint-14 is a Defender, who was known in part of helping lead people to the City and trying to protect everyone.

“To me, you are all of them rolled into one. You cared for me and guided me. You trained me to fight and survive. You were Pilgrim Guard, have led people to the City, and even now work toward helping protect people and get them to safety.

“So, yeah, I didn’t know which was most fitting.”

Claney stared at the box cookies in his hands. He found himself at a loss for what to say. It wasn’t often that the Hunter was that open with those types of thoughts or feelings.

“Thanks, Kiddo,” he managed eventually.

“Welcome,” Celeste replied, then darted in, slamming against him and wrapping her arms around him.

“Happy Dawning,” the Titan replied, returning the embrace.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She held out her hand and called out to her Ghost. “Whisper.”

A sound familiar to the Guardians filled the air, something shimmered above the outstretched palm, and a small box was transmatted onto her open hand. Celeste presented the box to Claney.

“A little something for Zillah as well. I wasn’t sure if I’d see her or not.”

Claney took the box, “She’s out in the field today, actually. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it when she gets back.”

“Just make sure you don’t eat them first,” Celeste replied with a grin. “You should swing by the Tower before the celebration ends. The lanterns are lovely this year, and I might have gone a little overboard with decorations in Painted Truth’s quarters.”

“Well, after what you went through this year, it makes sense,” Claney said. “I know I’m glad to be able to talk Dawning with you rather than having to think about you during the Festival of the Lost.”

“Yeah,” Celeste stepped away from him, her eyes growing distant. “It was something of a close call. But I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“Right. Sorry,” Claney offered weakly. He reached into the first box she had handed him and scooped up one of the orange and white cookies. “Here.”

“Because a cookie fixes everything?” she asked.

“No, but it’s a start. Happy Dawning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN
> 
> Destcember day 31.
> 
> So, I had meant to do more of these, but the holiday season is busy. Family visiting from out of state, running all around, family stuff to do. Hopefully everyone is doing well, and all set to kick off 2020 on the right foot.
> 
> I should soon be posting a 6 or 7 chapter story that I have written. I was originally going to be the beginning of a new novel-length story, a sequel to A Not so Simple Patrol and When the Sun Winds Down that was going to deal with Shadowkeep stuff, but I wasn’t happy with where it was going. I’ll repurpose what I have already a little bit and start posting it soon.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who read, liked, followed, favorited, commented, and/or gave kudos to any of my stories this year.


End file.
